


The Man in Red

by FleetSparrow



Series: Story a Day in May 2018 [29]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-29
Updated: 2018-05-29
Packaged: 2019-05-15 18:30:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14795712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FleetSparrow/pseuds/FleetSparrow
Summary: In every family photograph, there is the Man in Red, watching them.  Who is he?  What does he want?  And why can nobody else see him?





	The Man in Red

**Author's Note:**

> Day 29 in Story a Day in May. Prompt: Write a story you've been wanting to write.

They say everyone who looks into their family history will find a secret sooner or later. Ours was the Man in Red. In every family photograph since the days of portrait photography, he was there. Usually in the background. Sometimes right beside family members who didn't remember anyone beside them at the time. His face was always blurred, impossible to make out.

I first noticed him in the family album when I was going through it for a school project. I first assumed he was an uncle I'd never met before. But nobody in my house knew him. I thought that was odd, so I called up my grandparents, who each had copies of the picture. None of them knew who he was either.

I became obsessed with the Man in Red, hunting back through the years to find him. He appeared in family Christmas photos, and beach trips, and wedding photos, and even in this one really old picture of my great-grandma, he was there. Always there, always looking at the camera.

No name seemed appropriate for him, so I continued to call him the Man in Red, even when he showed up in black and white. I showed the photographs to my friends, but none of them seemed to notice him, even when I pointed him out. But my family could see him; they just didn't care.

So I went out and photographed everything. I started taking candid snapshots of my family, my friends, and even strangers, just to see if he'd show up.

And he did.

He appeared in every single photograph I took. He'd be in the background behind a group of old ladies, in the windows of our house, down hallways, in alleys, and once, when I took a picture of a bare field, he showed up right in the middle of it.

He never came any closer than the background, content, it seemed, to be in the pictures without being the focus of them. Even when he was alone in the field, he was far enough away to just be part of the scene.

I desperately wanted to know who or what he was. Who felt better to me, to be honest, but I was leaving my options open. I searched online to see if there were others he followed, but I could find no information on him. I even went back through genealogy sites to try and find a name for him, but I came up empty. He was a ghost. A ghost who always wore red to identify himself, yet whose clothes changed with the era.

He always looked the same, age-wise, though it was hard to tell with his blurry face. Still, I couldn't let him go. I thought about this man day and night. I wondered why he only came to our family, why my friends didn't notice him, and, most importantly, why none of my other family members seemed to care about his presence.

For years, I searched for information on this type of haunting. There were people whose families seemed to be haunted by frequent spirits, who appeared regularly in photographs, but none with the consistency of my Man in Red.

And then I realized something. I'd never checked for video proof of him. We had tons of family home movies that I'd never really looked through before, even in my new quest of documenting my family.

I began pouring over those old video tapes, watching them the way others binge watch TV shows. Sure enough, he was in every one of them. Sometimes the camera would pass over him very quickly and I'd have to rewind and slow down the play just to see him, but he was there. Like some kind of strange guardian angel, he looked over my family in every gathering, every recording.

I began to see him not as some harbinger of evil, but as a kind soul watching over us. I wondered who he was, if he had some relationship with my family that no one remembered anymore. I dreamed about him, about finally meeting him in the flesh, as it were. To speak with him about my family, to ask him why he was always around. Was he always around? Or was he only there when someone recorded it?

I had so many questions I couldn't answer, and it seemed I'd never have an answer for them, when one day, my car went over a bridge and plunged into the icy water below. In a panic, I clawed at my seatbelt, struggling to get it unhooked. Water slowly leaked in through my window seals, or what there was of them. I have never been good with enclosed spaces, but I'm a strong swimmer. I shoved open the door, taking a deep breath just before the water rushed in at me.

I kicked and swam hard towards the sky. I knew which way was up, but the water was deeper than I'd imagined. I was running out of air when something splashed into the water in front of me. A man's hand grabbed me and pulled me up, up, up out of the water. I gasped and panted as he pulled me to shore, where a crowd had begun to gather.

I recognized him the moment I saw him. His face was hidden in shadows despite the noonday sun, and his shirt plastered to him was bright red. He hauled me up onto shore, where the rest of the onlookers grabbed hold of me and helped me to my feet. When I turned back to thank my savior, he was gone. I asked about him, turning from face to face in the crowd in the hopes I might catch sight of him again before he was gone, but no one had seen him. They said they saw me struggling, then suddenly I just burst out of the water.

The police said I was in a state of shock when I asked them about the man. He couldn't have gone far that soaked, yet no one remembered him. Later that day, I found video footage of my rescue. Clear as day, I saw him pull me up, and yet, when I showed it to friends, they only saw me.

I still don't know who he is or what he wants, but he seems to be good and good for my family. I still wish I could see him again and ask him why us? Why our family in particular when there are so many others in need? Yet maybe it's not only us. Maybe we just don't know how many people he's helped. All I know is he's looked out for my family for years. I don't think I'll ever know fully who he is, but I know he'll be there when we need him.

After all, isn't that what guardian angels are for?


End file.
